


Pumpkin Spice Special

by Hexlorde



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista!Cullen, Fluff, Halloween Challenge, M/M, Professor!Dorian, Yes this is a coffee shop AU, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexlorde/pseuds/Hexlorde
Summary: After having his usual coffee supplier cut off in the most ridiculous way possible Professor Dorian is forced to take an alternate route to grab his caffeine fix. Little does he know that the barista there will have him making a permanent change to his routine.





	Pumpkin Spice Special

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I wrote for the Herald's Rest Discord Halloween Arena, which prompted "In 1000 words or less, fit in as many fall or Halloween related words as you can." I'd say I did alright.

Of all the ways for Dorian to be late, this had to be one of the most ridiculous; the road he normally took had been blocked off where a Spirit of Halloween truck had crashed, spilling plastic skeletons and bedsheet ghosts across the pavement. So now he was late for his own class because of a host of decorations had blocked the route to the college and cut him off from his main coffee shop. 

He grumbled as he looked down at his phone, trying to parse out the directions. It was frankly terrifying how convoluted the streets were in this area, and he ended up in dead end alleys several times before he found the storefront that he was looking for.  _ “Herald’s Rest” _ proclaimed the creaking wooden sign hung above the door, and it was apparently the only other coffee shop in the area that didn’t have terrible reviews. There were paper cutout bats in the window, along with little candles that had long since melted out of their original shape. A cornucopia sat in one corner, and a little sign placed among the leaves and apples that spilled out of it proclaimed that this rustic shop had the best pumpkin spice lattes in town. 

Sighing, Dorian pushed open the door. Inside it was warm and cozy, with what looked like a magic fire crackling off to one side in a large copper bowl. It lit a room filled with comfy looking chairs and worn tables, giving the impression that the shop was supposed to be somewhere centuries in the past. Thankfully the machines looked fairly modern, and they weren’t stained with mold or gunk like some others that he had seen. There wasn’t a line to the counter, so he strode up to order and didn’t look up from his phone as he said “I saw that you take pride in your pumpkin spice lattes and my normal coffee supplier is blocked off, so if you would be so kind as to whip one of those for me I would be in your debt.”

A laugh draws him out of his phone, and he’s rendered speechless as he finally sees the barista. He’s jaw droppingly handsome, with golden curls that make the autumn leaves outside look washed out in comparison, and eyes the color of honey. He’s also laughing at Dorian, but given that he’s just made a bloody fool of himself in front of a gorgeous man he thinks that might be justified. “One pumpkin spice latte coming right up,” the gorgeous being says.

Dorian  _ should _ be working on that text to his students to tell them that class would be a little late today, but instead he watches the man in front of him prepare his drink. He’s turned away (and isn’t  _ that _ a sight that will keep him up at night) and measuring out the grounds, grinding them a little more before pouring them into the machine. The coffee brews away, and while it does the barista turns and pulls out another bag of beans. It’s a large bag, and the motion serves to highlight the impressive muscles in his arms (a good face, good hair,  _ and _ muscles that would make a werewolf jealous? This man was going to be the death of him!).

Then his coffee was being topped with a generous serving with whipped cream, towering so high that Dorian arched his eyebrow as he said “My my, what could I have ever done to deserve that impressive pile?”

The barista  _ winked _ at him and said “You look tired, and I’d say that anyone whose road is blocked by spooks deserves a treat.”

Dorian hummed in agreement as he took a sip from the cup, just before his eyes widened. “This is delicious!” he exclaimed. “Whatever did you put in it?”

The other man laughed again as he said “It’s a trade secret, but I’ll make you a deal: every time you come back here I’ll tell you another ingredient.”

Dorian found himself agreeing and hurrying out the door, half of his mind on the class that he was supposed to teach and the other half on the best way to rework his daily commute. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the college before he realized that he had never gotten the man’s name.

* * *

A week later Dorian knew the exact spice mix that went into the latte, but he was still no closer to the barista’s name. He had spent sleepless nights telling himself that it didn’t matter, that he should just go to sleep, but his brain had decided that midnight was the perfect time to obsess over a man who had really only seen him as an uncaffeinated zombie. Therefore he told himself that this morning he would finally find out the man’s name.

He keeps that thought in mind as he enters the shop and walks up to the counter. The barista is there, and when he sees Dorian his smile turns sweet as candy. “You came back!” he says, surprise evident in his voice. “I thought that you would stop after you got your answer.”

Dorian takes a deep breath and says “Well, I don’t think I have.” The other man is obviously confused, but he steamrolls on. “You see, I believe that whoever makes the drink is as much a part of it as the other ingredients. Therefore, I still don’t know all of them.”

The barista’s eyes are as big as the moon, and for a moment Dorian fears that he said something inexcusable. Before he can say anything to rectify it he’s interrupted by the other man saying “Cullen.” 

Dorian is sure that he looks like an owl as he blinks at the other man (Cullen, it’s a good name), but he continues despite the blush creeping over his pale cheeks. “My name’s Cullen, and I wouldn’t object to you getting to know me.” 


End file.
